


It's Called Falling

by LunaDeSangre



Series: The Way You Fall Asleep [6]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Implied Light Dom/Sub, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: Kelly's never hated on-shift mornings as much as he does today.





	It's Called Falling

He already knows as he drifts awake, instinctively, that the warm naked body in his arms—the warm naked body he's tightly spooned against—is Matt (he'd know even without the memory of falling asleep holding him, like he knows Matt's mood by his walks, knows his emotions by the slightest twitch of his brows, the most minute curl of his lips or the subtlest change of light in his eyes) and it makes him smile, burying his face in Matt's soft hair, inhaling him in with every breath.

There's not even space for air between them, and Kelly's hard, right there against Matt's ass, unconsciously nudged a little between those gorgeous firm globes, but too drowsy and too comfortable and feeling too _right_ to ever considering moving. He kisses Matt's hair, sleepily fantasizing about kissing him for real—kissing him absolutely everywhere.

Gradually, though, he becomes aware of a muffled beeping. A _familiar_ muffled beeping. It takes a while for him to remember, but finally, he realizes it's his cellphone's alarm he's hearing.

And abruptly, he's awake, like being doused in cold water: they're on shift today, and he hadn't planned to go out (wouldn't have if Matt hadn't asked), and therefore didn't set his alarm any earlier than usual—and they're currently almost on the other side of town from the firehouse.

 _Fuck._ They should be able to make it, but it'll be a close thing. And they need to leave right fucking _now_.

"Matt," he whispers urgently, getting an elbow under himself and shaking the body in his arms slightly, " _Matt_. Wake up. _Wake up_ , we have to go."

Matt grumbles incoherently, turning almost on his front and hiding into their shared pillow—with a wriggle that has his ass pressed right back to Kelly's cock.

Kelly's let out a despaired groan before he can stop himself: with Matt's right leg bent at the knee like it is now...they're in a perfect position for a good-morning-fuck. If only there was time. (And if only he'd kissed Matt already, and could be absolutely certain Matt wouldn't mind being fucked awake.)

" _Matt_ ," he growls, angling his hips away and grasping both of Matt's shoulders, shaking him none-too-gently this time, "come on baby, we're on shift, we're gonna be late."

"Whaaat?" Matt whines, half-resurfacing from the pillow with a little frown and both his eyes still closed.

On the other side of the bed, the girl they've gone to bed with—the girl whose bed this is—lets out a particularly annoyed-sounding groan at all this commotion. Then she turns, buries her face into her own pillow, and apparently goes right back to sleep. Kelly had even managed to forget about her. (Like the fact that he never seems to remember any of their names these days wasn't bad enough.)

He grabs Matt by the wrists, bodily turns him over, and hoists him into a seating position—basically ending up with a naked lapful of him. Obviously, he's not quite thought this through.

Matt squints at him, hair all askew and far too gorgeous.

"We need to go," Kelly repeats breathlessly, "or we'll be late for shift." His voice is _way_ too husky to be anywhere near convincing. (And it's far from being the first time Kelly finds himself thinking the universe hates him, but really, it must _particularly_ hate him this morning.)

Lucky (or unluckily, Kelly can't decide), his words finally seem to reach Matt's brain: "Shift?" he echoes. And then, eyes widening: "Oh _shit_ , is that your alarm? What time is it?"

He scrambles off Kelly's lap and starts rummaging among the mess of clothes strewn all over the floor—giving Kelly a great view of his naked ass wiggling around.

His really, _really_ perfect naked ass, nicely round and smoothly firm and the sort of pale that'd probably show the mark of every single one of Kelly's teeth for a few days if he bit it moderately hard—

" _Kelly!_ " Matt hisses fiercely, suddenly looking back at him with huge, huge eyes, steadily blushing more and more crimson even in the low light from the windows. He abruptly sits down on the floor, and Kelly is forced to stop staring.

"Um," he says, oh-so-intelligently, dazedly hoping he hasn't actually drooled.

Matt hides his face in his hands for a few seconds, visibly takes a deep breath. "Where's your damn phone?" he asks in that same fierce whisper, glaring a little. His face is still red. Kelly wants to kiss him.

Phone? Kelly thinks in confusion, before he realizes the muffled beeping is still going. "Somewhere," he whispers back, scratching the back of his neck in slight mortification at having been caught staring like a pervert. He thinks Matt might not be the only one blushing.

Matt makes a face at him, and Kelly quickly amends: "In my jeans! I just don't know where they ended up."

He gets up to look around, and Matt's gaze zeroes in on his cock. Which is, of course, still hard. Holding-straight-up-against-his-stomach hard. Matt instantly flushes all over again, and Kelly has to clap a hand against his own mouth so he doesn't start cackling. Or giggling. He's not sure.

"W-we, um, we need to get dressed," Matt squeaks, squishing his eyes closed. He blindly gropes around him and throws the first piece of cloth his hands land on in Kelly's very vague direction. "Put that on. Where the hell is your phone?" he grumbles again, turning away and apparently going back to his phone-foraging.

" _You_ need to get dressed too," Kelly points out, trying to wrestle himself into the pair of jeans he's been thrown and only catching on that they're not meant for a man once he stops staring at Matt's naked back to try and figure out why he can't seem to get even one foot in properly.

"Uh? Oh, right," Matt mumbles, still turned away, and he quickly puts on a shirt as Kelly throws away the jeans in frustration. A sleeveless undershirt, which hangs off him a bit, and therefore can only be Kelly's.

Kelly bites his lower lip, _hard_ , and determinedly tears his gaze away to look for something else of his. Soon he spies another pair of jeans, and hurray, the beeping goes louder as he picks them up. "Found it!" he whispers, finally silencing the damn alarm and turning to grin at Matt.

Who's turned away from Kelly still, and in the process of putting on his jeans commando-style: Kelly catches a last glimpse of his (beautiful, perfect) round buttocks as Matt hitches up the rather tight things over them and struggles with the buttons.

" _Kelly! Get dressed!_ " Matt hisses again, desperately—face right back to crimson as he turns to catch Kelly staring, _again_.

"Right," Kelly mumbles, almost laughing as he wrestles his own jeans on, turning his back on Matt to try and shove his swollen cock in them as gently as he can. (Matt makes a little choking sound, like maybe he's staring too.) He sucks in his stomach as he warily closes the zipper, and grimaces at the fit: there's no way his hard-on'll go unnoticed.

Behind him, Matt takes a deep breath, shuffles a little, and finally whispers "I found your boxers, have you seen mine?"

They're blue, Kelly thinks immediately, still hearing Matt's low sultry whisper of the night before. He's barely gotten to see Matt in them last night and really wants that to happen again, because they were the same damn blue as Matt's eyes and the kind that hug in all the right places and Matt had looked stupidly gorgeous in them (though, obviously, he's even more gorgeous naked), so he carefully eyes every corner, and finally spies them on a dresser across the room. How one girl's managed to scatter their clothes around more than _five_ , he's got no idea.

"Here," Matt says, suddenly right next to him, handing him a pile of clothes and taking his boxers from Kelly's hands, shoving them in one of his pockets before Kelly can seriously think of doing something stupid, like shove them in his own pocket. "I found your jacket too, and I think that's my shirt, but I still haven't seen yours—"

"You're wearing it," Kelly whispers back with a grin, putting the undershirt and jacket on and bundling his boxers in one of the jacket's pockets, checking the other one to make sure he still has his keys and wallet.

"I _know_ ," Matt answers quietly, "I meant your _actual_ shirt, not your undershirt." He's wearing his own _actual shirt_ and his own jacket on top of Kelly's undershirt, and smiling back at Kelly with his cheeks still reddened and his eyes sparkling.

Kelly really, _really_ wants to kiss him.

"Socks," he says, instead.

"What?" Matt whispers blankly.

"Socks," Kelly insists, forcing himself to look around again, "and shoes. You seen any?"

"Shit," Matt hisses again, "no, I haven't."

The next few minutes are spent quietly (and frantically) rummaging. Their one-night-stand is apparently rather messy—or a really good bisexual clothes-thrower: Kelly finds three different and surprisingly girly woman's socks and two bras before he stumbles on one of his boots, somehow all the way under the loft's kitchen table despite the fact that they've gone nowhere near it the night before. He's shaking the dust off the lone, grey male sock he's found peeking off the top of a kitchen cabinet when Matt hurries back to him with his own shoes and Kelly's missing boot.

"I haven't found any socks," he grumbles quietly, "have you?"

"That's yours, right?" Kelly asks, exchanging it for his other boot. "Mine are black. Did you look up? This one was _on top of a cabinet_."

"Seriously?" Matt goggles, taking it between two fingers and looking at it more closely with a suspicious face.

Kelly nearly snickers at him, but busies himself hastily checking above any other high furniture in the place. He finds one of his socks on top of a bookshelf and the other one _in_ that same bookshelf and hurriedly slides them on, spotting another grey sock hanging off a wall sconce as he does. He nearly looses his balance pointing it out to Matt, who snatches it up with a little triumphant sound.

"Where's the other one?" he whispers urgently, handing Kelly his boots again.

"Don't you have it?" Kelly asks, sitting on the couch to put them on.

"Uh, no, that wasn't my sock either," Matt hisses, making a disgusted face.

"Urgh," Kelly groans quietly in compassionate distaste, "try looking around where that one was. And I haven't checked _that_ ," he adds, nodding toward a tall dress form with a very big hat looming in a corner.

Matt has to get on his tiptoes to look over the hat, but two seconds later he's holding up his missing sock with a grin, then hurrying back to the couch to put it and his shoes on. "We're still missing your shirt," he says, tying the laces, as Kelly tries one last time to spot it.

Kelly gets his watch out of his jeans (finally remembering it) and checks the time as he closes the clasp around his wrist. "We've already used eight minutes," he decides, "let's just go, I don't care about my shirt. You got everything?"

"Yeah," Matt confirms, getting to his feet and checking his pockets.

"Okay, let's go," Kelly insists, starting to steer him toward the door.

Matt, though, escapes with a whispered "Wait—one minute," and he's crouching near the bed and gently shaking the girl's upper arm before Kelly can react.

Kelly watches them for a few seconds: she wakes up with a groan, but any traces of annoyance melts like butter under the sweetness of Matt's smile. He whispers something, moving her hair back from her face, and she grins back and says something that makes him bite his lips with a blush.

"We have to go," Kelly says at a normal volume, walking closer and dropping a hand between Matt's shoulders. "We can't be late to work," he adds, a bit more apologetically.

"So I gathered," she snorts. Then she strokes Matt's cheek, once, and rolling on her back to smirk up at Kelly: "Thank you for sharing him. It was fun."

Kelly laughs, he can't help it. "Anytime," he answers with a grin. And he bends down, kisses her forehead, and adds: "Well, I say that, but..."

"But you're a possessive bastard," she accuses lightly, still smirking.

Kelly shrugs, straightening back up and taking Matt with him. "Anybody would be," he says, throwing a glance at Matt's crimson face and nearly loosing his breath at the look in Matt's eyes—the same desperate, needful pleading hunger he'd given Kelly the night before, with a full-body shudder, as Kelly effectively declared himself _his master_.

"Close the door when you leave," the girl mumbles through a large yawn, "it'll lock."

"Sure," Kelly easily answers, already steering Matt toward it again. Matt lets him this time, squeaking a quiet, red-faced "Bye" in her direction. Kelly wants to kiss him even more badly—he just hurries them to the door instead.

His shirt turns out to be the crumpled heap lying against it that at first glance looks like a small sleeping black cat. While Matt makes sure the door has properly locked behind them, Kelly takes off his jacket to slide it on, and then hurriedly buttons it as they run down the stairs. He leaves it untucked, vaguely hoping it'll help hide the still rather large bulge in his jeans.

Luckily, despite the early hour they find a cab rather quickly. Matt keeps silently looking back at him with that ridiculously beautiful shining grin the whole ride over to their place, cheeks pinking every time Kelly smiles back, and Kelly wants to kiss him so much it kind of hurts.

Then there's even _more_ rushing: their bags are ready, but they can't exactly show up in the state they're in—well, Kelly could (he's done it before), but not _Matt_.

"Okay, you get into the shower, I'll just wash up a bit at the sink and change—I can catch a shower at the House more easily than you," Kelly decides as soon as they're through the door, already stripping off layers. There's only one bathroom—normally it's not a problem, and they both know how to get cleaned fast, but they're seriously running out of time now.

"Sev," Matt objects from behind him, "if it's fine we wear each other's clothes, d'you really think it'll matter if we share a quick shower?"

Kelly whirls around and all but _gapes_ at him for several seconds, standing half-naked in the kitchen: Matt's pink-faced (and reddening), but those wide eyes are completely sincere. For him it was a genuine, innocent offer—not the _absolutely terrible idea_ that's making Kelly feel like his cock is twitching in his jeans.

"If I get into a shower with you," he warns intently, voice gone all low and husky again, "it will _not_ be quick."

Matt's face instantly goes all flaming crimson again.

"Go," Kelly orders breathlessly, pointing at the bathroom. Matt hurriedly does as told, biting his lips and not looking at him. How much Kelly wants to follow him is absolutely ridiculous.

Matt is back under four minutes top, hair still wet and obviously only finger-combed (and very quickly at that), but clean-shaven and carrying his bag. He looks, of course, absolutely fucking gorgeous.

Kelly's managed, in the same amount of time, to make himself semi-presentable and swallow some dry toast and orange juice. Squad gets less calls, and he's clean enough for the next few hours. (And perhaps most importantly: the pants he's wearing now are a lot less form-fitting than his bar-scene jeans.)

"We can have coffee at the House," he says, offering Matt a piece of toast and the last of his juice. "Come on."

Matt downs the juice, sticks the slice of toast between his teeth, and dashes out right behind him.

"Let's just take my car!" Kelly calls back, already running toward the building's front door as Matt closes their apartment's. He hears Matt's muffled "Okay!" as he passes the entrance, and pushes the door open wider than necessary so it doesn't slam back in Matt's face, fingers already searching for the right key as he spots his car in its usual space next to Matt's truck.

He rushes in, throws his bag in the back, vaults over the seats to open the lock on the passenger's door, and he's putting on his seatbelt and fumbling the key into the ignition when Matt gets in, slams the door closed after him, and turns in his seat to dump his own bag with Kelly's. Kelly starts the car, goes for the stick-shift—and finds himself grabbing Matt's knee.

Unthinkingly, he turns to look at him, and Matt is frozen in place, eyes wide, cheeks flushing, pink lips parted, staring at him.

Kelly speechlessly stares back for two or three breaths, unable not to—and suddenly, without either of them seemingly moving, they're kissing. All tongues and teeth and breathless gasps, grasping hands and bumping knees, rustling clothing and hair, mashing and melding and melting together, tangling and clinging. There's no air.

Just like there's no time.

Kelly breaks the kiss with a moan and Matt's hands immediately push against his shoulders, keeping him at arms' length as they both pant for air and voice and sanity. He's almost in Kelly's lap, one knee over Kelly's despite still being mostly in his seat, and Kelly's knocked aside the stick-shift and taken his foot off the pedal to get closer, to pull him closer, and the car's stalled in protest and neither of them has _noticed_.

Kelly's seatbelt is still on. Possibly, that's the only reason they're not horizontal.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to remove his fingers from Matt's hair, forces himself to _not_ stroke his cheeks, or his neck, or down his shoulders and down his arms—doesn't quite succeeds.

"Oh god _drive_ ," Matt gasps, scuttling off him. "Boden'll kill us if we're late." He half-falls, half-scoots back in his seat to fumble with his seatbelt, wide-eyed and flushed, lips all kiss-reddened and hair a complete mess.

Kelly chokes on a laugh, all but grasping at the air between them, dizzy and wanting and _wanting_. "It'd be worth it," he says, even as he struggles to right himself.

Matt laughs a little. It sounds as raw as Kelly feels, and Kelly has to look at him again, has to _see_ —and god, but there's a ray of sunshine hitting his hair, the side of his face, highlighting his perfect cheekbones like he's a perfect statue made warm and alive and impossibly real, and his lips are dark pink and a little swollen (from Kelly's kisses— _from Kelly's kisses!_ ) and he's slightly beard-burned around the mouth from Kelly's coarse stubble and reddening under Kelly's more-than-hungry gaze, and he's got a look in his eyes that's both familiar and completely new, and—

" _Kelly_ ," Matt half-groans, half-whimpers, squeezing his eyes closed, hands tight around his seatbelt, "Boden. Late. Drive. _Stop looking at me like that_."

"Right," Kelly says, forcing himself to think of Boden's angry face (or worse, his disappointed one) and fumbling for the stick-shift, then the key, finally remembering the right order. He's hard-as-a-rock again—he can't think about that. Can't wonder if Matt is too—if Matt _felt_ he was—

He starts the car, carefully checks the traffic, and drives out of his parking spot, probably far more forcefully than necessary.

Matt makes a little startled noise besides him—but Kelly can't look. If he looks, he'll look _down_ too, and if he looks down and sees Matt hard...well, they'll be late. Very much so. And Boden'll kill them.

So he drives, a tiny bit like a madman, and tries not to listen to Matt breathing next to him—tries not to remember watching him gasp for breath just a few hours ago, naked and sweaty and _drained dry_ , all fucked out and _gorgeous_ , so gorgeous, looking back at him all wide-eyed and amazed, exhaustedly shining that full, bright dimpled smile at him like there was no girl between them.

He tries to not remember _that look_ in Matt's eyes earlier too—the same look he'd thrown Kelly just this morning as they said goodbye to their one-night-stand, his face crimson from Kelly's and the girl's bantering and his fingers clutching Kelly's jacket.

There's a red traffic light—Kelly slams on the breaks, and Matt makes another little noise besides him. It sounds more annoyed than startled this time, and Kelly chances a look.

Matt glares at him. "You drive like a suicidal race-car driver on crack," he says.

Kelly snorts. Matt lets out a tiny, nervous giggling snicker that's so damn cute it makes Kelly grin like an idiot. Matt grins back, dimples showing, eyes twinkling.

The light is still red. Kelly's still at least half-hard, but it seems easier to breathe, somehow.

"Like how?" he finally dares ask after a few more seconds of them both just grinning stupidly at each other.

Matt gives him a completely-confused look. "Like how what?"

"How was I looking at you?" Kelly clarifies.

Matt instantly goes all adorably flushed again. "Um," he dawdles. Then, obviously trying for dry but nearly making it a question instead: "Like you wanted to eat me alive?"

He bites his lips, wide-eyed and face nearly crimson, as Kelly stares back speechlessly, only able to think _But I do want to eat you alive_.

He'd bet a lot Matt can read it on his face, too, with the way Matt's blush gets _worse_ , somehow, the way his breath hitches—

A sudden, loud honking sound makes them both jump: Kelly's gravitated closer without realizing it, _again_ , mesmerized by Matt's soft, parted pink lips _so close_ , and Matt's leant forward to meet him, looking as enticed and dazed as Kelly feels—and the light's turned green without either of them noticing. Apparently, whoever's in the car behind them has no patience for lovers.

Or almost-nearly-will-be lovers, Kelly thinks with a snort, as he straightens in his seat and takes off precisely like the suicidal race-car driver on crack Matt's accused him of being.

Matt splutters a little, and then just starts giggling.

"Later," Kelly promises determinedly, eyes on the road, driving too fast and grinning like a loon.

"Yes," Matt instantly agrees. His voice is full of giddy laughter, without even the shadow of a doubt anywhere in it, and Kelly doesn't even need to chance a side-glance at him to know he's smiling again, wide and dimpled and gorgeous, absolutely shining with it.

 _Later_ won't arrive fast enough, with how badly Kelly wants to kiss him again and never stop.


End file.
